


A Halloween in Edge

by Boomchick



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunting, M/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomchick/pseuds/Boomchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cloud hates Halloween. Especially when the universe decides to surprise him in the middle of his least-favorite night of the year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I intended this to be a seasonal one-shot, but the ending wouldn't close off, so instead it will be a series of short vignettes about... Well, you'll see what it's about. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII, FFVIIAC, or anything related to Final Fantasy. Please support the official releases.

Cloud did not like Halloween. He did agree that Marlene was cute dressed in her witch's costume, and that Denzel made an excellent firefighter, but he refused to go out trick or treating with them. He knew what would await him.

It was the same thing every year for the last three years. The streets would be crowded with children wearing mock-ups of his face, and his clothes, and his hair, carrying fake versions of his sword, some of them caringly hand-made, and other mass-produced by some enterprising soul who'd realized there was a market for Cloud Strife Halloween costumes.

But the worst part was who they went trick or treating with. They never walked around with people dressed up as the other members of Avalanche, or Zack, or even Turks. They always ended up walking with kids dressed up as Sephiroth. The costumes were often disturbingly accurate, right down to Masamune, and sometimes even including contacts with slit pupils. They reeked of silver hair-spray, and the cheap pleather their costumes always seemed to be made out of.

And without a doubt, the kids dressed up as him ran around pretending to kill the ones dressed as Sephiroth. Without fail, the children in Sephiroth costumes gave their versions of maniacal laughs and taunted the children in Cloud costumes. And then they all picked themselves up after their mock battles and begged for candy from his neighbors and the rest of Midgar.

Cloud spent Halloween locked upstairs in Seventh Heaven, in the attic, which had the mercy of at least not having any windows. It was bad enough that he could hear the revelries from bellow.

Tifa was busy downstairs minding the bar, while Barrett had the kids out trick or treating. It was a familiar routine by now. He flinched as he heard a cry of 'Sephiroth!' from outside, screamed in a ferocious child's voice, full of false rage and fueled by pretend vengeance. Tifa didn't allow the costumes in the bar, fortunately. But ladies did get half off their drinks on Halloween if they dressed up like her, so long as they pretended the cowboy-hat picture had never existed. Needless to say, the party downstairs in Seventh Heaven was already loud and rowdy, and would only get wilder as the night went on.

Cloud stood up off of the mattress he'd brought upstairs with him and wandered through the attic. It was almost completely empty. There were a few extra chairs and bar stools, in case any of Tifa's broke, or were broken. In one corner, the supplies to make new tables in case of bar brawls sat. They'd only had to pull them out once since Seventh Heaven opened, and that had been after the Turks' first visit to the bar. He had to smile at the memory of her forcing the Turks to build her a new table while still in their work suits. She'd even cracked the whip on Tseng.

He ran a hand over a box, checking his fingers and sighing at how dusty they were. This box was his—all of the items he'd gathered from his life before Avalanche. It was amazing, how it all fit into one tiny box. He glanced to the closed door that lead downstairs, then to the bare mattress he'd brought up as all he had to keep him company. Then he turned to the box and opened it slowly. Memories were an unexploded bomb for him. He rarely allowed himself to think back to a time before his current life. With children in the house, he usually didn't dare test his control. But right now, he was alone, isolated, and safe. Besides, it was Halloween. What better time to face a fear.

He hesitated as he unfolded the top, and turned away, grabbing one of the spare chairs and dragging it over to sit beside his memories. On the very top was a photograph in an old frame, the glass a little dirty from disuse. A blonde boy stood next to a smiling woman in a modest dress. He wiped the dirt carefully off from over her face. It was the only image he had of his mother, and she had moved slightly while it was being taken. Her face was as blurry as his memory of her. He was glad to have the picture none the less. It had been a stroke of luck finding it at all. He carefully used the bottom of his knit shirt to wipe off the rest of the dust, and set the picture aside, propping it up against the box in front of him.

There were a lot of useless things in the box, he found. Little things, like random toys that he didn't actually remember, but knew distantly were his. He smiled fondly as he set them around the picture, but it wasn't until he picked up the next frame that he slowed again.

This one was newer than the photograph of his mother. Still dusty, but not too bad. It wasn't a picture, but one of the things the Turks had filed away from his personal belongings after he vanished in Nibelheim. It was a framed napkin, which was silly in and of itself, but the signature it bore made Cloud's chest ache.

'Want my napkin?' Zack had joked over the dinner table after discovering Cloud the cadet idolized him. 'Here, I'll sign it for you! It'll be worth a lot of money some day!'

"Not even close," Cloud whispered in response to the memory of his friend, rubbing the edge of the frame. "The frame cost more than your signature would."

He stared down at the scrawled name for a long time. His fingers traced over the letters of Zack's name, as though hoping to take hold of the hand that had written them so long ago. He swallowed heavily, took a deep breath, and set the frame aside, carefully propping it up to face him as well.

The next thing he pulled out was the box Tseng had given him only a year ago. He still hadn't broken the seal. Inside were Aerith's letters to Zack—all of them. The weight of the box always astounded him. The mass of her love, all carefully penned onto the paper she'd probably scrimped and saved for with her meager earnings from selling flowers. She'd kept writing for so long. She had always been like that, though. She loved so deeply, and was so utterly devoted to those she loved. He pet the box gently. He wouldn't open it—not ever—but he was glad he had it instead of the Turks. Glad that the box could sit next to Zack's signature. It was like the buster sword after he moved it into the church—they were just meant to stay together.

There were a couple of odd things below that. He pulled out a pair of training gloves, with holes in them where he'd spent so long training with swords he'd worn through the palms completely. Then an old, tattered magazine with Zack's grinning face on the cover, giving a little salute, with the caption 'Soldier's newest hero?' beneath it. He was extra careful when he set that down. He only had a few more pictures of Zack than he had of his mother, and it was good to see him smiling. So many of his memories of Zack were tinged with pain.

He reached into the box again and paused. It was a long pause. His fingers had touched something smooth, cold, and solid, and he remembered what it was as he touched it. He'd been in such a rush to collect it with no one asking any questions when he saw it among his possessions in the Turk's holding area that he hadn't taken the time to think about it. He drew it out slowly, inhaling deeply as he did so.

It was a simple, dark box. Nothing special by itself, of course. It was what it held that made Cloud's heart beat faster. He opened it slowly, quietly praying they hadn't been broken. Gleaming porcelain was revealed as he lifted the lid, and he let out a soft breath of relief. All three of the Wutaian tea cups inside the box were intact.

He turned them carefully, pointing their simple, elegant designs of trees and flowers upwards. He remembered these. He remembered them vividly. They were from a moment in his past he'd pushed aside for a very long time.

"You kept them," a deep and familiar voice murmured behind him. "Even after all this time."

"They were the only thing I had of the real you," Cloud said softly in answer to the voice which he knew could not be real. He tilted his head slightly, running his fingers over the delicate paintings on the rounded mugs. "The one thing I had to remind me of the man I used to..."

He trailed off for a long moment, searching for the right word.

"Idolize?" the voice behind him offered.

"Something like that," he sighed, "It doesn't matter now. You—the real you—you're long gone."

"Yes," the voice said softly. "May I?"

Cloud didn't get a chance to answer before a slender, softly-glowing hand reached over his shoulder to touch the mugs. He stared down at the hand as it caressed the images, then followed it up the muscular arm attached to it. The arm led him to a broad frame, and gut-wrenchingly familiar silver hair. And yet there was something distant about it all, as real as it was. As far away as Aerith standing in amongst her flowers.

"You're dead," Cloud said softly.

"Very observant of you to notice," Sephiroth responded, tilting his head give Cloud a very faint and very sarcastic smile.

"Really dead this time, right?" Cloud clarified, lifting a hand to curiously touch Sephiroth's very solid-seeming arm.

"Just a memory," Sephiroth replied with a grimace of a smile, straightening from touching the cups and backing away a couple of steps as Cloud rose. "Just as you wished."

There was silence for a moment. Cloud studied the faint glow that Sephiroth seemed to emit, just as Zack and Aerith had, as though he were still bathed in the light of the Lifestream even in his dark attic. He looked unearthly, but not in the sick and alien way he had when they fought. He looked calm and controlled, and carried a quiet solemnity that was very unlike the teasing, taunting villain Cloud remembered.

"It's really you," Cloud said cautiously. "The real you. Right?"

"It is."

"Are you here to tell me I'll be haunted by three spirits or something?" Cloud asked dryly. "I thought that was a Christmas thing."

"You have already been haunted by three spirits," Sephiroth commented calmly. "If you count Aerith and Zack as the first two, I would be the third."

"What do you want from me?" Cloud asked, "Before you went insane—before everything happened—we barely knew each other. I wasn't even as Soldier."

"I have come to apologize," Sephiroth replied, his eyes steady on Cloud as they faced each other. "Which I recognize is many years too late to mean much."

Cloud took a deep breath, staring at the man. He felt he ought to react violently to those words. His every instinct was telling him to rip this man before him to shreds, before this nightmare worsened and Sephiroth changed again and tore him apart.

"I thought it would be useless," Sephiroth said slowly, "but agreed to do as Zack and Aerith asked. As a favor."

"They told you to come?"

"I thought them foolish," the silver-haired man said, shaking his head as his eyes lowered to the set of mugs again, "but you did keep them. So perhaps not so foolish as I thought."

"So is that it, then?" Cloud asked, shifting and straightening as Sephiroth's reptilian eyes returned to him. "Have you done what you came to?"

"Not yet," Sephiroth replied. "Not quite yet."

He shifted and Cloud tensed. Every movement from Sephiroth screamed danger. It always had. Any toss of his head—any redistribution of weight—it was all carefully controlled and measured, and it called out to every piece of Cloud that had become a killer to defeat this man. He widened his feet just a little, letting out a slow breath, prepared to fight to the death once more to protect his family.

Sephiroth watched him shift, then slowly sank downwards. Cloud watched in faint shock as the man slid to one knee before him, his right arm folded over his leg and his left resting lightly on his thigh. He bowed his head slowly, letting his bangs fall in front of his face. Cloud took a half step backwards, rattling one of the picture frames with his heel, but fortunately not breaking it.

"I have wronged you," Sephiroth said softly, his eyes on the floor and his head still bowed, "In every possible way. I have betrayed your trust, and through my negligence and weakness allowed injury and sorrow to befall you. I failed to protect you, as I swore to Zachary and myself I would before we left for Nibelheim. I failed even to die properly and spare you pain. For all of this—for every horror and loss that you have experienced—I apologize, Cloud Strife. I am sorry."

Cloud watched him with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. Silver hair fell in drapes around Sephiroth. He'd once thought that his hair was almost godly. Now it only reminded him of his worst nightmares. There was a whisper in the back of his mind, from the darkest parts of himself, which told him to take advantage of Sephiroth's kneeling position. He was quietly ashamed of the thought. And yet, it wasn't that shame which held him back. It was wondering whether or not the strike would connect with Sephiroth's ghost.

"Stand up," Cloud said softly and firmly. "There's no reason for you to kneel. It won't change anything. Not what you've done, and not what I think."

Sephiroth's eyes lifted first. He fixed his gaze on Cloud, his gaze intense and miserable. Outside children were hollering loudly in glee and pleased screams of fear. Below their feet, Seventh Heaven's murmur was growing into a roar as Tifa's bar grew wilder and busier the later the night ticked on. He stood up slowly, almost stiffly.

"I don't forgive you," Cloud said quietly and darkly once the man was standing. "Not for any of it. I keep these mugs because I remember what you used to be. I keep them to remind myself to stay the Cloud that Tifa and the kids know instead of becoming the monster you tried to make me."

Sephiroth lowered his eyes, and for a moment Cloud almost felt guilty for his words. Sephiroth had been through hell—he knew that—but he couldn't just forgive him. It would be like admitting that he'd failed to save the man Sephiroth had once been.

Something seemed to shift about Sephiroth, and the change drew Cloud out of his thoughts, re-activating his paranoia. The glow began to fade from around the former General's form, and as Cloud watched blood started to drip off the tips of Sephiroth's slender fingers. The tall man tilted his head back slightly, and closed his eyes, a look of pained acceptance crossing his face.

"Goodbye again, then." Sephiroth said softly, his eyes still closed.

Darkness swirled around his feet, springing to life as his blood fell to the floor. The red liquid started to leak from his hair line, sliding down his face in messy streams. His hair twisted behind him, pulling back sharply as the roiling blackness twisted upwards and tangled in his silver locks. His hands twitched, and the darkness reached up to wrap around them as well, shackling him. His head was pulled back, and the snarl that crossed his lips was of pain, not anger.

"What the hell," Cloud whispered as the darkness started to drag Sephiroth downwards.

Bright green eyes slid open, surrounded by the blood now seeming to gush from him. He opened his mouth to reply, but the darkness wrapped around his lips as well, cutting off his words. He closed his eyes again, and seemed to surrender himself to being dragged downwards.

"Take it back," Zack's voice echoed around him, desperate though it was only a whisper. "Take it back, Cloud! Please, you don't have to forgive him, just say you need time to think! Take it back!"

"But I-"

"Cloud," Aerith's voice whispered in his other ear. "Please."

Cloud's eyes returned to the face of the man slowly sinking into the floor. Sephiroth's eyes opened slowly, meeting his a final time as his legs vanished completely into the darkness, still sinking further and further. Memory swept over him.

"You like them?" Sephiroth asked quietly, stepping up behind Cloud.

"I've never seen anything like them, sir." Cloud replied softly, staring at the delicate mugs his General had served him and Zack tea in.

"They're pretty cool, huh," Zack grinned, taking a drink out of his own.

"Are they from Wutai?" Cloud asked softly, running his fingers lightly over the smooth surface.

"They are," Sephiroth replied, though he did not expand upon it. "I am glad they please you."

Cloud had come home the next day to a simple box sitting on his bed, which held nothing but the three cups, carefully settled in velvet, and a note that said 'since you liked them.' He'd been certain from that moment on that Sephiroth was a person he could follow anywhere—that if he ever managed to become as close to the General as Zack was, he could count himself as one of the luckiest men on Gaia. He'd treasured the gift above all his other items, and practically enshrined it in his small drawer of possessions in the barracks.

"Wait," Cloud said softly. "Wait."

Everything seemed to freeze. Sephiroth's descent slowed. The darkness wrapped around Cloud's former hero roiled in annoyance, squeezing him in agitation. The pressure drew a wince and an annoyed look from the ghost.

"I can't forgive or not forgive him," Cloud said, shaking his head, his voice shaking just a little, not sure who, exactly, he was addressing. "I barely even knew him before he went insane. I can't be in control of—of whatever this is."

"You must decide," a voice that was neither Zack's, Aerith's, or Sephiroth's murmured in his ear. "Does he remain, or does he vanish, Cloud?"

"I don't know," Cloud whispered. Something about the voice was achingly familiar, and utterly trustworthy. He didn't even think to doubt it. He stared down at Sephiroth's blood-stained face. "I don't know enough about him. I don't know anything about him."

"Very well, then," the voice murmured after a moment. "You will learn. And then you will make your decision."

"Wait," Cloud snapped as he felt the presence leave the room.

Sephiroth was dragged out of the floor and dropped in an unceremonious heap, bloody and shaking. He lay as still as death for a moment, then dragged in a breath. That single breath chilled Cloud to the bone. It wasn't a sound a ghost made. He took a half-step back, looking down at the silver-haired man collapsed on his floor. Sephiroth shifted, pressing a hand to the floor as he began to rise, before freezing, staring at his fingers.

"I feel that," he rasped.

His voice was no longer clear and warm, but low and raspy and very real. His eyes widened in surprise at hearing himself. Cloud stared as the glow faded from around him. His Mako enhanced hearing picked up the thunder of a heartbeat speeding up coming from the man before him. Sephiroth broke out in a cold sweat.

"I'm alive," He whispered. "What—What have they done?"

"Cloud?" Tifa called from the door, stepping inside the attic, "Things are starting to—Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company." She smiled warmly at Sephiroth, nodding to him with a complete lack of recognition in her eyes. "Sorry to interrupt!"

Cloud stared at the door as she closed it quickly. He didn't even think to correct her or stop her from going. A slow sneaking suspicion was building in his head. He walked over slowly to Sephiroth, bending and inspecting his eyes. Sephiroth didn't look at him, breathing hard and shaking on the floor, obviously re-adjusting to being a live. His eyes were still inhuman, but they lacked their Mako glow. He was definitely alive, but at the same time it was clear that he was not himself.

Cloud realized, after a moment of stunned silence, that Sephiroth was looking at something fixedly. There was something akin to horror in his gaze. Cloud followed that look, his eyes landing on the framed picture of Zack's signature. The black matting beneath the glass frame was almost mirror-like. Reflected in its surface, Cloud saw himself, crouching and looking into the frame with bright blue eyes. But the collapsed figure on the floor before him reflected as someone completely different—a brown-haired man with unimpressive features and what looked to be a smattering of freckles.

Cloud flicked his gaze from Sephiroth to his reflection and back. The silver-haired former General looked up at him in shock, still as striking as he had always been to Cloud's eyes. Sephiroth gave a shaking wheeze of breath, incapable of forming words in light of the shock of being resurrected as someone completely different. Cloud understood the sentiment behind the failed whisper, and returned it in a whisper of his own.

"Holy shit."


	2. Coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter of what was supposed to be a seasonal one-shot.

Cloud always helped clean up the bar when he was at home. It was a routine he didn’t skip out on, no matter how rough his last delivery had been, or how down he was feeling. He might have, but he found that both he and Tifa were happier if he helped. If he saw her come upstairs without having helped her clean up, he would have felt horrible. And for her part, some days it was the only time she got to spend with him.

The evening of Halloween was no different. Though this year she didn't call him downstairs—he just took it upon himself once the screams and hollers from downstairs had died down into nothing and there remained nothing but the quiet clink of someone picking up glasses off of tables. He didn't glance back as he left the room.

The downstairs was a disaster. There were pieces of costumes on the floor, and it seemed that more than one of the revelers had overindulged. There was even a broken chair. Cloud sighed and walked forward, starting to pick up the larger marks of destruction.

“Cloud?” Tifa asked, eyeing him carefully. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Tifa,” Cloud muttered, lifting the first of the chairs and flipping it up onto the table to get it out of his way for cleaning.

“And your boyfriend?” Tifa asked with a teasing smile and a knowing tilt of her head.

Cloud twitched, then shivered. He shook his head silently, casting her a 'please not now' look. He only relaxed when she sighed and went back to her work. She cleaned out glasses swiftly and thoroughly, stacking them in little towers on the towel she'd spread over the bar.

“He's cute,” she commented after a moment.

“Tifa,” Cloud scolded with a little frown.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tifa said with a smile. “I'll let you keep your private life private. I'm just happy to know you have a private life. I was starting to worry about you.”

“Let's just clean up and get some sleep,” Cloud muttered. “I need to think straight before I go into this with you...”

“Alright, then,” Tifa said with a nod. “You keep it up. I'm going to touch base with Barrett and see how the kids did tonight. I'm so glad he keeps them on Halloweens. I don't know how I'd manage without daddy around to look after the kids now and then!”

Cloud gave her the little smile he knew she wanted, and watched as she walked out of the room, pulling out her PHS as she went. Then he returned his eyes to the messy floor, moving slowly to fetch a broom, tossing dish towels over the soggier messes.

He stopped in the middle of the floor a moment later, holding the broom and staring down at a bunch of chip crumbs on the ground. What was he doing? What in the hell was he doing? He was sweeping the floor, obviously. But he was sweeping the floor while Sephiroth was...

Why had he asked the goddess to wait? Because Zack had asked him to? Because Sephiroth had looked so sad? What did he care if the man who had destroyed his entire world got eaten by the darkness? He should have let him, he thought to himself, tightening his grip on the broom. He should have watched Sephiroth vanish again and reveled in it. But then, he never had reveled in Sephiroth being hurt. Not even after he killed Aerith.

The thought made his hands tighten automatically, and the broom splintered and broke in his hands, falling in pieces, leaving him holding nothing but splinters. He sighed and went back to the broom closet, pulling out one of the backups. It was an unfortunately common event.

It didn't matter, he told himself after a moment. How he had gotten to this point couldn't matter. It was all about what he did from here. He had a Sephiroth upstairs, who didn't look like Sephiroth. Tifa thought he had a new boyfriend, who just so happened to be his mortal enemy in a disguise that was not of his own making. But it was obvious that Sephiroth had no powers. Cloud had grabbed his arm briefly, and nearly snapped it before realizing that he had to tone it down. The bruise had already been livid when he came downstairs to clean.

It could have been a trick, he supposed, but Sephiroth had never really been one for tricks. Traps, certainly, and mental control in his darkest, cruelest moments, but not emotional manipulation. You had to understand emotion for that to be possible, and though Sephiroth knew many things, Cloud was well aware that the once-great-general had been terrible at them even before he went insane. The memories he carried from Zack were enough to tell him that.

And the pain in his eyes had been honest, though he hadn't made a sound. Cloud had watched his teeth clench and grind—his back arch—his eyes tighten at the corner and brighten in pain before closing in resignation...

“Cloud!”

Tifa's voice was not her usual half-worried questioning address. It was the tone of voice that reminded him of the woman who'd planned the destruction of reactors and killed those who got in her way. Cloud felt himself tense up defensively. He turned his eyes to the doorway, listening to her footsteps thunder closer. The moment she stepped into the room, he knew he was in deep shit. It was an absolute and instant gut-instinct. He could save the world, destroy Sephiroth, become strong enough that not even a train derailing or a bullet to the head was likely to kill him, but there was no time in his life he would ever not be afraid of the look on Tifa's face right then.

“We live in a house with children,” Tifa snapped, ferociously.

“I know,” Cloud said slowly, stepping back from his cleaning, to a less cluttered place, just in case he needed to run. He never had, but he always worried.

“Children who, though they are away right now, have keys to this house and often wander around without supervision.”

“Yes Tifa,” Cloud said slowly.

“And as happy as I am that you are finally expressing your preferences and getting out in the world, it is NOT a house where you can leave your boyfriend tied up in the attic for long periods of time!”

Cloud's face heated. The rush in his ears overwhelmed the next few things that left Tifa's mouth. She'd gone up to the attic. The word 'shit' ran through his mind at least seven times before he caught up to what she was saying.

“I understand that it's a perfectly legitimate thing to be interested in,” Tifa was saying swiftly, “and goddess knows I'm happy that you've finally found someone, but--”

“Tifa,” Cloud said, feeling his brows twist desperately. “Please don't say anything else.”

“Go untie him,” Tifa ordered, pointing to the door that would lead Cloud back towards the attic. “And next time stay at his place for whatever games you want to play. Got it? And bring him by for dinner next time, don’t just tie him up in the attic without introducing me!”

“Sorry Tifa,” Cloud rasped, amazed that his voice caught at all and he didn't just wheeze in shock.

If he moved a little faster than his usual walk towards the attic, it was not because he was eager to get there. He was eager to escape from the knowing look in Tifa's eyes that was so wrong on so many levels that she couldn't possibly understand. Her ire was definitely roused. He really ought to learn to plan ahead. He missed having Vincent around to advise him on his next move.

He slowed when he stepped into the attic. He was instantly pinned by a fierce and accusatory glance from the corner where he'd left his unexpected visitor. Sephiroth's eyes were fierce green, even without the blaze of mako backing them up. His furious look was softened by the binds holding his hands behind his back and his feet together. He made not a sound, but Cloud was willing to bet that had more to do with the tight gag between his lips than anything.

The man hadn't fought when Cloud tied him up. He hadn't moved since catching sight of the strange reflection in the glass of Zack's signature. He hadn't struggled at all until Cloud tightened the gag in his mouth and rose an grunt of objection from the otherwise stone-still man. He'd left him there without thought. He'd needed to get his head on straight. Looking at the monster tied up in the corner and glaring with those inhuman eyes that Cloud hated so much from behind slightly messy silver bangs, Cloud knew it had been pointless. None of the panic that suffused his entire being had subsided during his absence. And yet, he was out of time to calm down. He moved over slowly.

Cloud removed the gag from Sephiroth's mouth as quickly as he could, trying not to touch his skin any more than he had to.

Sephiroth's lips pulled back briefly, but he said nothing. He just stretched his jaw. Cloud looked with interest at the reddened corners of Sephiroth's mouth. A disturbingly human mark, he thought to himself. Not one a super soldier would have.

“Your girlfriend was very distressed.” Sephiroth rasped once he had finished shifting his sore mouth around.

“Why are you here?” Cloud hissed darkly through clenched teeth, not letting himself object to having Tifa called his girlfriend. He tried to remind himself that he didn't care what this man though of him.

“I came to ask your forgiveness as I said.” Sephiroth replied. Whatever strange panic had overcome him before had vanished without a trace, but his voice was still raspy and damaged. “Why I have not vanished, I do not know. That was your doing.”

The words were followed by a dry, ragged cough. Sephiroth turned his head till the fit passed, unable to cover his mouth with the hands bound behind his back. When he turned back, his expression was passive, but his cheeks held a tinge of pink. Cloud was alarmed to realize that it was because of the cough. It was such a disturbingly human reaction. He shifted a little closer, looking Sephiroth over, not letting himself look at those reptilian eyes.

His bound fingertips were blue from lack of circulation. His breath rasped through his lips. The blood that had poured from his non-physical form had vanished, leaving no trace, but he was shaking. Cloud watched the subtle, subconscious twitches of his fingers with foggy, detached interest.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth started.

“Don't call me that,” Cloud hissed, meeting Sephiroth's eyes as his disinterest faded in the wake of a cold fury. The memory of lips curled in a mocking smile purring his name rose to choke him.

The general hesitated, considering. Cloud watched as his eyes unfocused and refocused again, as though if he looked at Cloud correctly he would make sense.

“Strife,” he said after a long while, waiting a moment to see if that would be acceptable. He continued when Cloud didn’t comment. “Why did you change your mind?”

“Because Zack and Aerith asked me to,” Cloud answered without hesitation, his teeth still tightly clamped together. “And if I had known that would mean you staying here--”

“You would not have done it,” Sephiroth said his voice grim. “I know. But I am here now, and if I am not mistaken, I am human.”

“Not just human,” Cloud muttered. “Tifa can't see you. Not for what you really are.”

“I noticed.” Sephiroth said mildly. “She had quite a little rant when she dropped by.”

“You talked to her?” Cloud snapped, snarling at him.

“Mostly she talked,” Sephiroth corrected with a shrug that made his blood-deprived fingers twitch. “But she did unbind my mouth to question whether my captivity was 'consensual.' I told her it was, though I fear that it led to some confusion regarding your relationship to me. I apologize if it caused her to doubt your fidelity, but she replaced the gag before I could clarify.”

“Good thing,” Cloud muttered, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “Better that she think I'm into this,” he gestured inarticulately at Sephiroth “than that I'm kidnapping crazy people off the street.”

“What will you do now?” Sephiroth asked after a moment of silence.

“Don't move,” Cloud ordered, gritting his teeth.

Sephiroth held very still, but Cloud still barely refrained from losing it as he had to touch the man's hair to undo the binds on his wrists. He felt a brief twinge of guilt as he saw how deeply the rope had pressed into Sephiroth's skin.

Sephiroth waited until Cloud had backed away again to slowly pull his arms around from behind his back. His face stayed passive, but Cloud knew on a visceral level that the motion would hurt after more than an hour of being bound.

'Good,' a part of him thought as he watched his mortal enemy rub his wrists with numb hands. 'He deserves to suffer for what he's done.'

Cloud thought of the darkness that had risen from the floor to entrap the general. Had that been the punishment the man deserved, waiting to claim him? He shook the thought from his head. Zack wanted him to try, and more importantly Aerith did. So Cloud would try.

“You can't stay here,” Cloud muttered to himself. “I'm not letting you anywhere near the kids.”

“Good,” rasped Sephiroth. “I dislike children.”

“Pretty sure the feeling is mutual,” Cloud muttered. “Untie your legs. We're going to the church.”

“Ironic,” Sephiroth commented, his numb, shaking fingers fumbling with the knot Cloud had used to bind his feet.

“Why are you shaking?” Cloud demanded at last, annoyed by the persistent sign of weakness.

“I am cold,” Sephiroth replied blankly, not lifting his eyes from the knot. “It is October, I am not enhanced, and whatever deity or devil chose to drop me here decided to forego a jacket.”

Even the piece of his mind that had been silently screaming 'kill him' every moment Cloud was with Sephiroth went quiet for a moment. The ex-general seemed unperturbed, but now that Cloud looked for it, he could tell that the man was freezing. He'd been so stuck looking at that hated hair and his monster eyes that he hadn't noticed the baggy pants and t-shirt with a button down dress top pulled over it. Three quarter sleeves displayed the deep purple bruise on his forearm where Cloud had gripped too hard. A part of him found the image hilarious. But most of him felt a little sick. He didn't object in theory to hurting Sephiroth, but he hadn't intended to. He swallowed, considering, then spoke softly.

“Don't go anywhere.”

“Unlikely,” Sephiroth commented, gesturing to the knot that he'd made no headway in with fingers that were still blue-tipped and twitching.

Cloud left the attic quickly, closing the door behind himself. He slipped into his room as quietly as he could. The last thing he needed was to run into Tifa right now. He knew on a visceral level that he should tell her exactly who it was in her attic. Hells, being Tifa, she might even actually believe him. She had stuck by his side through stranger mental crisis, and crazier events. She'd never turned her back on him. Not even when he'd handed the black materia over to...

To the man who was currently unsupervised in his attic. Cloud looked down at his hands, feeling panic blossom from nowhere. Would he know if he was being puppeted? He didn't feel like it had felt before, but then it had always been things he knew instinctively were WRONG that Sephiroth and Jenova tried to force him to. Killing Aerith, surrendering the black materia—those had been obviously evil, and he had fought them as hard as he could. But this?

He lifted the jacket he'd come for in the first place, looking down at the fabric with a faint frown. It certainly seemed like the right thing to do. Sephiroth was his prisoner, after a sort. Or his charity case. Either way, it wouldn't be right for Cloud to let him suffer.

He shifted the single sleeve over his left arm and frowned faintly at it. He couldn't tell how cold it would feel to be unenhanced in this weather. Tifa walked around in short sleeves even at this time of year, though usually only when she was working. And after all, cold air sank and warm air rose. Shouldn't it have been warmer in the attic than anywhere.

Cloud hesitated, memory flashing through his mind. A man scoffing behind cold, shining glasses rose unbidden in his mind.

_“Silly boy,” the scientist scoffed. “Someone with as much mako and J-cells as you have—it would take far more than this to break you.”_

Cloud shuddered as hard as he could, trying to shake off the memory with the movement. He picked up the jacket, and after a moment of thought grabbed the nicely crocheted hat that Tifa had gifted him for when he wanted to be anonymous in a crowd. It was warm, at least. Though he couldn't shake the feeling that Sephiroth wearing a hat would be officially the strangest thing he had seen thus far in his life, even with all of the magic, and gods, and miracles he had witnessed.

When he returned upstairs, it was to find Sephiroth still doggedly picking at the tight knot, wearing it down with sheer persistence. The silver-haired once-general didn't even look up from what he was doing. Cloud clenched his jaw briefly, then tossed the coat at him. He had to hold back a laugh when it simply landed over Sephiroth's head, his prisoner's reflexes not fast enough to catch it. The little jolt of surprise he gave was deeply entertaining.

“Put that on,” Cloud instructed firmly. “We're heading out for the night.”

“Very well,” Sephiroth said, his voice still raspy but calm, even as he ducked out from under the jacket to slide his arms into the sleeves. They were hardly longer on him than the three-quarter sleeves of his dress shirt, and the front would not close over his broad chest, but it was better than nothing. “However, unless you would like to carry me, I believe you shall have to undo this knot.”

Cloud tightened his jaw. “If you kick me, I'm going to throw you out a window. And I don't think you'll survive it.”

“Threat noted,” Sephiroth rasped dryly.

Cloud untied his legs without ceremony, and stood back. Sephiroth didn't move at first. His legs straightened slowly, and he flexed his feet. He was wearing sneakers. Cloud had to look away. It was too bizarre. He averted his gaze to the outdoors, through the small circular window that was the only portal to outside from where he was. He usually kept it covered. He shifted the curtains to glance around.

It was late now. Only a few straggling trick or treaters were out and about. It had to be past three in the morning, because that was when Tifa closed up on holidays. Still, Cloud saw a few teenagers slipping through the streets with mischief in their minds. He caught sight of one of them, smacking gum with a mock Tsurugi slung over his shoulder and a lop-sided blonde wig. He pulled away from the window swiftly and looked to Sephiroth.

“Get up,” he said swiftly.

“I don't know how long it has been since you were bound for a long period of time,” Sephiroth said dryly, “but it is not the easiest or most comfortable thing. I recognize that you are not used to keeping prisoners. If I could recommend allowing me a drink and a moment to recover, I think you would find I would suddenly become more able to obey.”

Cloud clenched his jaw tighter, feeling his teeth grind and watching Sephiroth. He was met by a blank stare, almost suspiciously empty of malice. After a moment of holding his gaze, Cloud sighed.

“Fine. Take your moment. You can drink something downstairs before we go.”

“Many thanks,” Sephiroth drawled with what Cloud was certain had to be sarcasm.

“I didn't ask for this you know,” Cloud hissed. “You are terrible at staying dead.”

“Or perhaps you are just bad at killing me,” the man said darkly in return, a significant wheeze underlaying the words.

“Up now or I'm dragging you downstairs,” Cloud snapped in return, his patience taxed by Sephiroth's fierce attitude.

He watched as the man leaned forward slowly, as though deeply stiff. His hand pressed against the floor as he slowly rose to his full height, staggering to the side to lean against the wall. His face was still blank of emotion, but Cloud heard his breath hitch, and watched his hands flicker, as though looking for his blade. No weapon appeared for him. Cloud shifted back and opened the attic door, waiting expectantly, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and disquiet.

Halfway down the stairs, Sephiroth's legs gave out, and Cloud moved without thinking. One hand grasped the man's belt and an unfortunate amount of hair while he yanked him back and shifted in front to brace him. Sephiroth choked at the touch, and Cloud himself froze up as the general's weight landed on his shoulder. He was heavy. He was warm. For just a moment, his enhanced senses allowed Cloud to intimately hear Sephiroth's heartbeat thundering, his breath rasping, his clothes shifting over his skin. Then he was pulling back, shoving Sephiroth into the wall where he leaned limply against the railing.

“Is everything okay up there?” Tifa called upstairs with a fierce note in her voice.

“Fine, Tifa,” Cloud called back instantly, his eyes not leaving Sephiroth's.

“You are very bad at killing me,” Sephiroth whispered after a moment of catching his breath.

“If you fall again, I'm letting you split your head open,” Cloud snarled, moving swiftly the rest of the way downstairs.

Despite his words, he still waited at the base of the staircase for Sephiroth, ensuring he didn't really spill his brains on Tifa's floor. He told himself it was to keep Tifa safe and happy. He wasn't sure that was entirely true.

He led the man into the blissfully empty bar, slipped behind the counter, and filled a tall glass of water, slamming it down on the bar with just a little too much force. That he managed not to break it was more from luck than attention. Still, Sephiroth didn't seem to mind the reluctance with which it was given. He lifted it in shaking hands and drank deeply, as though he had been thirsting for days. Cloud watched him closely, even as the man set the nearly empty glass down, drawing in a deep breath.

“Your special for tonight is interesting,” he muttered, gazing at the wall behind Cloud.

Cloud glanced back and sighed at the flowery description of 'The Sephiroth Slayer,' which was a variation on his favorite drink on the rare occasions he indulged. He shook his head and turned away, frowning deeply. He knew Tifa would have just forgotten to take it down. Outwardly she supported his reluctance to revel in his role in Sephiroth's demise. But he knew that she, like most of the others, would never understand why he didn't wish to celebrate that victory. She was happy he had killed Sephiroth, and more than willing to celebrate it with the populace when Cloud wasn't there to be upset by it.

“It's popular on Halloween,” Cloud muttered.

“Halloween,” Sephiroth said with a dry laugh, lifting his water again. “Pointless.”

“Tifa,” Cloud called over his shoulder. “I'm going to steal the truck for the night, okay? I'll bring it back in the morning.”

“Don't run over any kids!” Tifa yelled, before peering into the room and giving a warm, affectionate smile towards them both. “And for the love of the goddess, Cloud, introduce me to your boyfriend next time before you tie him up in my attic.”

“Yes, Tifa,” Cloud muttered, not bothering to argue. It was almost worth it when he saw the affronted, bewildered expression on Sephiroth's face.

“She does not fear me,” Sephiroth whispered as Cloud gestured for him to follow outside.

“Of course not,” Cloud scoffed. “You look like any semi-good-looking construction worker off the street. You look like the guy who runs the butcher shop down the road. You did see your reflection, right?”

“Yes,” Sephiroth said slowly and darkly. “It is strange. I have never been looked at like that before. Except for--”

“I don't care.” Cloud interrupted sharply, opening the truck swiftly and firmly. “Get in the damn truck. I'm taking you to the Church. Then I'll figure out what to do with you.”

He had a feeling it would not be as easy as he had hoped. He hesitated a moment, then pulled the crocheted hat out of his pocket and tossed on the once-again-shivering Sephiroth's lap.

“Put on your hat,” Cloud muttered as he gunned the truck. “It's not a heated church.”

“Joy,” Sephiroth said darkly, shoving the crocheted hat on his head with a little more force than was necessary. “What a delightful revelation.”

Cloud was very, very glad when Sephiroth didn't attempt to continue anything like a conversation after that as they drove through the city of Edge. It was a quiet drive, and almost entirely free of late-night revelers. The streets were nearly empty. And yet, Cloud could not shake the feeling of something following him.

>   
> **How to make 'The Sephiroth Slayer'**  
>  Take two ounces of Vodka, one fourth of an ounce of lemon juice, half an ounce of Hpnotiq liqueur, and one ounce of white cranberry juice. Combine in an ice filled shaker, shake hard, and pour into a glass, excluding the ice. Your drink will come out a beautiful mako blue.


	3. Inner Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud thought things couldn't get more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much-delayed third chapter. I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Three

Watching Sephiroth walk into Aerith's church with a slow, almost hesitant stride was one of the most surreal things Cloud had ever seen. In the dark and ruin of the slums, both Sephiroth and the columns of the beautiful church glowed softly as though illuminated by some inner light.

Cloud turned his gaze away and locked the truck. He did not need to watch the procession. He was not worried about the church having occupants. Despite its miraculous nature, most people never made the dangerous trek to go there. He wasn't entirely sure why. Apparently most people who went there said it gave them an uneasy feeling. Cloud had to wonder if that was one of the spirits that inhabited the church's walls shooing them away. He himself had never felt anything but welcome within the church's walls.

He lifted his head, letting out a slow breath into the cool night air. Far away, he could still hear the distant sounds of parties. In the rubble around them, something shifted, sending a piece of metal clinking down a mountain of broken concrete. The sounds were grounding. They were real. They were normal.

What had happened that night was not. Ghosts he was used to. You couldn't see as many ghosts as he had without starting to grow accustomed to their presences. But both Aerith and Zack talking to him in one night—the ghost of Sephiroth visiting as he looked through his collections of dusty memories—the creature that had started dragging him down into the floor. Into...What, exactly, Cloud wondered. What was there other than the lifestream. Other than the in-between existence Aerith and Zack seemed to have.

He slid his gaze towards the church, inhaling the scent of the broken remains of the slums to ground himself once more before facing reality. It seemed that his entire world boiled down to doing the right thing because no one else could. Though he was willing to bet that if he were to askhis friends for help they would help. The problem was he wasn't sure that this was something they could help with. Goddesses and resurrection... It wasn't the sort of thing he'd been prepared for when he woke up that morning.

After a long moment, he walked inside after Sephiroth. He was surprised to find the man sitting between the pews, a frown on his face, his eyes upturned towards the hole in the ceiling. Cloud wandered over slowly after him, not coming too close.

“This is the church?” Sephiroth asked after a long moment.

“There are a lot of churches,” Cloud replied blandly, keeping his gaze averted somewhat. It was too strange seeing Sephiroth bundled against the cold. He looked too human.

“This is Aerith's though,” Sephiroth replied. “It is the important one.”

“Yeah,” Cloud muttered in reply. “What is happening here, Sephiroth. Why were she and Zack trying to get me to forgive you?”

“It was their plan,” Sephiroth murmured. “They found me, brought me to her field, and were attempting to assist me. It became clear that without your forgiveness, the Goddess was not willing to let me properly join the lifestream. I would always be something different. Something 'other.' Something wrong.”

“Maybe that's because you are,” Cloud said, glancing up to the hole in the ceiling that held almost as much personal history for him as the church itself did.

“Perhaps,” Sephiroth agreed, not shifting from where he was seated. “What is your plan?”

“Well I can't kill you,” Cloud muttered. “Not only would it be dishonorable while you're like this, Zack would be pissed.”

“He wouldn't be,” Sephiroth argued. “Disappointed, perhaps, but he would understand.”

“Disappointed is worse,” Cloud commented, waving his hand to brush away the thought.

“So you'll... What. Keep me prisoner instead?” Sephiroth asked, turning his head to face Cloud, his eyes looking dull without the impressive glow they usually held. “Hide me away in this old church until the walls cave in and you don't have to accept the responsibility for my death?”

“I don't have a plan yet,” Cloud muttered. “A few hours ago, you were dead and I didn't have to worry about it.”

“Yes,” Sephiroth replied. “I am beginning to miss that state of being as well.”

Cloud huffed and stepped past Sephiroth, moving towards the flower bed at the front of the church. He stopped in front of it, not touching, but silently allowing himself a moment to remember. A moment to think about the life that Sephiroth had ended. And to contemplate how he became friends with the two people in the world who would send the person who killed them back to be forgiven.

When he turned back to face Sephiroth, he was surprised to see something out of place on the church's unused pews. There was a book lying there, open as though someone had been leafing through it. It looked old, but it had no dust covering its pages.

Cloud frowned, looking closer. There was a grotesque image on the page facing upwards. When he scanned the pages, the word that stood out was 'demon.' He glanced around, wondering if Vincent was hiding in the church, or had been recently. He doubted it, even as he looked. Vincent had made an enormous step towards recovering from what Hojo had done when he left his coffin and let others grow close to him, but it had cost him to do it. Cloud doubted that the man would be ready to take another step towards facing his demons until at least another thirty years had passed. It was depressing to think that by then all of them would be quite old, if not dead.

'Well, not all of us,' he thought as he looked down into the water that reflected the face of a 20 year old back at him. He hadn't mentioned it, but he was sure the others had noticed by now that he wasn't aging.

“I have questions,” Cloud said after a moment. “About what you did and why you did it.”

“I know,” Sephiroth replied with an almost weary note. “I will answer them if it gives me a chance to leave the limbo I've been trapped in.”

“If you were with Aerith and Zack, I'd trade you in a heartbeat.”

“With them, yes,” Sephiroth said softly. “But separate from them. Untouchable. Tainted. Different. It is not an existence I would wish on anyone.”

Cloud shifted, eyes wandering off Sephiroth as he spoke. He turned his gaze to the man's shadow from the newly rising sun. It streamed gently through the door of the church, throwing a long shadow from where Sephiroth was sitting with his head bowed, lost in thought once again.

Then Cloud's eyes reached the tip of the shadow, and he froze. He watched it twist, slowly, as though trying to writhe away from the man who owned it. Cloud glanced back to find Sephiroth as still as ever, then looked back to the shadow, taking a step back and placing a hand on his sword.

“Sephiroth,” he said darkly, not sure if he was warning Sephiroth to look out, or warning him to stop. It didn't look intentional, but he couldn't be sure.

“What?” Sephiroth asked softly, lifting his head.

As he lifted his head, the shadow stretched, and the twisting intensified, the edges of the shadow stretching upwards to join the undulating portion of darkness over the floorboards before Sephiroth. The general saw what was wrong, his eyes widening. Cloud didn't take more time to watch him than that. Whatever was happening, it wasn't Sephiroth's plan. He never would have shown that surprise if it had been. He'd have smiled to see it working.

“Don't stand up,” Cloud warned softly, moving towards the shadow.

“I'm not moving,” Sephiroth replied, his voice low.

Cloud took a step closer and hesitated. There was a strange sound filling the air, as though the shadow's writhing was actually scraping against the hardwood floor beneath it. It stretched itself, reaching upwards as though to grasp at the flowers. Cloud froze in alarm when something that looked disturbingly like a hand rose from the top of the shadow. He moved forward to guard it, but he wasn't quite fast enough or sure enough.

The flower that the shadow hand touched fell, and darkness erupted. Cloud lifted an arm to guard his eyes, taking another step back as something—Something very big—clawed its way out of Sephiroth's shadow. Distantly Cloud heard Sephiroth screaming through clenched teeth, as though somehow it pained him for the thing to enter the world through his shadow. Cloud couldn't help but find that, after a moment to acclimate to the idea, he wasn't surprised at all. Then his time for thought was over.

Whatever the shadow had been before, now it was a monster. It stooped, humanoid but perched on all fours. There was a trembling un-ending roar escaping from it, as though the world was screaming around its existence. Cloud lowered his arm from in front of his eyes, glaring up at the thing. He froze. 

The creature gave a bellowing roar, mouth gaping, showing teeth dripping saliva and an ugly purple tongue. Cloud glanced down in surprise to the church pew beside him. He recognized this thing, but surely it couldn't be...

The book on the bench was open to an image of the same creature in miniature black and white imagery—flabby flesh, macabre impersonation of wings, human-esque face with blazing eyes.

The page was labeled “Demon Title: The Other (Alien)”

“What the hell,” Cloud hissed, drawing his sword to face the creature and its ugly, gaping maw.

He glanced to Sephiroth, about to tell him to get out of the way and let him handle it. He was startled to find the General still crouching where he had been, frozen half-risen to his feet. His green eyes were wide. The expression on his face looked alarmingly like fear.

Cloud jerked his attention back to the monster just in time to cast a shield and deflect the poison spell shooting their way. Where the spell hit, Aerith's flowers wilted. 

“Get up!” Cloud barked in his best command voice.

Whether it came out well or not, Sephiroth reacted to it. He straightened swiftly and held out his hand. Nothing happened. Cloud realized after a moment that the man had tried to summon his sword. Under different circumstances, Cloud would have laughed at the horror in Sephiroth's eyes. As it was he just clenched his teeth and shifted just a little, staying between the thing and Sephiroth. The creature shifted as well, studying Cloud with unnervingly familiar eyes. Its claws tore up floorboards as it moved, and Cloud winced at the damage to the sacred place.

“Start the car,” he ordered Sephiroth darkly without looking away from the creature. “I can't fight this thing here.”

“I'm not a chauffeur,” Sephiroth objected, his voice softer than it should have been.

“Well you sure as hell aren't a fighter right now,” Cloud barked. “Do you want to get melted, or start the damn car?”

The monster roared its anger, apparently deciding it had waited long enough. It moved forward, it's footsteps shaking the ground as it walked. Cloud stepped up to face it, and almost missed his strike when the monster ignored him completely, reaching a dripping hand towards Sephiroth. Cloud's strike hit it soundly in the side, but did no damage. The thing staggered to the side, and Cloud felt its attention turn to him. Inhuman eyes regarded him from a twisted, dripping face that was far too human for comfort.

Sephiroth moved, at last. He turned his back and ran out the doors. The monster bellowed as he moved, rising to its full height—it nearly hit the rafters—to follow after him. Cloud summoned another barrier spell, casting it with clenched teeth.

“Ugly bastard,” he snarled up at the monster now that there was no one watching. “I'm the one you're fighting!”

He brought his sword down, releasing the energy built up inside it on the creature standing before him. The bellowing sound that escaped the thing made Cloud's head pound from the sheer noise of it. Just barely, he heard the sound of an engine turning over. He looked to the bench, grabbing the still-open book swiftly before turning and running from the church, leaving the enormous creature still staggering from his strike, pulling itself together.

“Drive!” he barked, sprinting to the car.

Sephiroth didn't even wait for him to get all the way in. He floored the old truck. In the back of his mind, Cloud felt a swell of bitterness. Sephiroth was better at driving the old stick shift than he was too. He tried to force it out of his mind, jamming his sword against the dashboard before him. He might need it in a hurry, and stowing it as he usually did would just make it hard to get to later.

“Head the way we came,” Cloud ordered, refusing to look at the man in the driver's seat. “We need to get out of old Midgar and into the wastes.”

Sephiroth shifted up a gear and turned the truck. Cloud snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. His eyes were narrowed the way he'd known they would be. He was the very image of competence and concentration. Cloud tore his gaze away swiftly. He didn't want to see that face. See those eyes that had looked at him with that same look while they fought to the death.

He looked down at the book that was now resting in his lap instead. He'd closed it as he ran. The cover was actually embossed. He'd seen a few books like this before, but he'd never really held one. The leather patterns were smooth and worn under his hands. It had no writing on the cover, but an ornate design, like a cross. At each corner of the book were metal caps with precious stones embedded. Cloud touched them too, then opened the book slowly, fascinated by its appearance.

The title page read “Demons of Gaia”

The script was elegant. It looked hand-written. Very well written at that.

“What is it?” Sephiroth asked, glancing over with cool, competent eyes.

“Watch the road,” Cloud snapped in reply.

He opened the book slowly, flipping back to the page he'd seen in the church. The inner demon. “The Other.” It was definitely the creature they'd seen in the church. There was no doubting that fact. It didn't look like anything else Cloud had ever seen. And yet there were strange differences. He was almost certain he'd noticed the stub of a wing on the creature they'd fought that was absent from the book.

“It is chasing us,” Sephiroth said, his voice flat and unpanicked despite everything.

Cloud looked back, tearing his gaze off the book to observe the creature. It was staggering with alarming speed after the truck, but as Cloud watched it nimbly avoided so much as denting any buildings or cars as they moved into the less-destroyed parts of town. It was as effortless in evading them as it was clumsy in its chase. It was as though they didn't even exist to it.

“It's only chasing us,” Sephiroth continued, eyes on the monster in the rear view mirror.

“Keep watching the road,” Cloud repeated, even as he turned to look behind them.

“What the hell is it?” Sephiroth repeated, the faintest trace of a growl in his voice.

Cloud looked down again at the book in his lap. He flipped back a few pages, past pictures of other beasts drawn in black and white—sharp, angular, ugly creatures that, though they were all drawn in black and white, were distinct from each other in their ugliness.

The first page of the section was labeled 'inner demons.' Cloud read it aloud, in the hopes that it would stop Sephiroth from asking anymore.

“Inner demons,” he read, glancing back as the creature gave a bellow behind them that rattled the car windows. “Monsters born from the psyche. Unlike natural demons, these beings can only effect the one who created them, unless another steps in the,” Cloud paused, brows twisting as he looked back at the monster again. “Steps in the way.”

“So it's after me,” Sephiroth whispered softly. “And you got in its way.”

Cloud didn't respond. He just shook his head and kept reading. “These creatures live in the darkest thoughts and subconscious of every being. It is only the particularly strong or the particularly weak who can manifest them. Each is a personal fear, failure, or trauma...”

“What is that one?” Sephiroth asked, slamming on the breaks to take a corner far too fast, tires squealing against the ground. Cloud had to brace himself against the truck door to keep from slamming into it, but Sephiroth still sounded utterly calm. The monster turned the corner only a few moments behind them.

“It's called 'the alien,' which suits you, I guess.” Cloud responded bitterly.

Sephiroth didn't reply, but when Cloud glanced over he couldn't help but think that the man looked paler, and that his hands were clenched more tightly on the steering wheel. Cloud watched his throat move as he swallowed.

“If it won't attack others, then we can take a shorter route to the wastes,” Sephiroth said at last. “Do you plan to fight, or let it have me.”

“What?” Cloud asked, lifting his head in alarm.

“If I am going to be eaten by that thing, I would like to know.” Sephiroth responded blandly. “I do not expect you to fight my battles for me.”

“Idiot,” Cloud accused sharply, turning and starting to roll down the window.

He didn't wait for Sephiroth to respond. He shifted in the passenger's seat until he was hanging halfway out of the window. He readied a fire spell, eyes narrowing on his target as the creature pounded ever closer to them, leaving dark cracks and gashes in the pavement where it stepped.

“Let it get closer!” he called into the car as Sephiroth sped up.

“You're insane,” the man responded, though he slowed the car. “It would leave you alone if you just got away from me!”

“I'm done feeling guilty,” Cloud replied sharply, building the power in his hand as the monster drew nearer. “I'm not going to let myself feel that way again over someone like you!”

He released the spell into the monster's face as it lunged forward, mouth wide to bite through their car. The creature's bellow choked, strangled by smoke and fire.

Cloud didn't have to tell Sephiroth to drive. The man slammed on the gas and they were off. Cloud nearly fell out the window before he managed to wedge himself back inside and into his seat.

“Where to?” Sephiroth asked.

“Still the wastes,” Cloud ordered. “You look normal. We can't risk someone trying to help you against it and getting caught in the crossfire.”

Sephiroth's jaw clenched, but he nodded, turning the car out towards the open area as they finally drove free of the tangle of buildings and out of Old Midgar.

Cloud rolled up his window, staring at his sword. He knew that Zack and Aerith would approve of what he was doing. That was the reason he was doing it. If it had been for himself, he'd have taken Sephiroth up on his offer in a heartbeat.

“Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll freeze to death,” Cloud muttered to himself, scowling and resting his hand on the hilt of his blade.

“I'll see what I can do.” Sephiroth replied dryly, driving out deeper into the wastes as the sun rose on a new day and a new challenge for them both.

There was silence for a long while. When Sephiroth spoke again, it was quietly.

“Your fire spell didn't kill it.”

“No,” Cloud said softly, trying not to let it show that he'd been obsessing over his last remarks and how untrue they were. “It's tough. Whatever it is.”

“That book,” Sephiroth said after a moment. “Does it say how to stop it?”

“No,” Cloud replied, shaking his head as he looked down at the book in his lap. “But it says it only shows up in the,” he paused, finding the wording before continuing. “In the in-between periods of the day. Dawn and evening. It should fade at noon, and it won't show up again until evening.”

“Will it come out of me again?” Sephiroth asked, his voice softer. He sounded worried. Cloud glanced at him and found his face blank of expression.

“It hurt, didn't it,” Cloud said after a long moment, watching the slight tightening at the corner of Sephiroth's eyes as he spoke. “I thought I heard you screaming.”

“I do not scream,” Sephiroth said softly, staring straight ahead at the dusty, empty landscape.

“But it did hurt,” Cloud filled in, looking back to the book.

“I don't understand any of this,” Sephiroth whispered. “It was supposed to be simple. Either you forgive me, and I'm free, or you don't, and I'm destroyed. This middle ground... It was never something I wanted.”

“Guess you're still in limbo,” Cloud muttered, staring outside his window rather than looking at the man he hated so deeply and yet was sitting less than a foot away from.

“I guess I am,” Sephiroth whispered.

“I still want my answers,” Cloud said after a moment.

“I'll give them to you if I can.”

“And just because I'm not letting you get eaten doesn't mean we're friends or partners,” Cloud said sharply.

“I know,” Sephiroth said softly. “I understand. I am your enemy until I can prove otherwise. If I can.”

“Right,” Cloud said softly, unsure why hearing those words spoken made him feel like scum. It was utterly true, and utterly reasonable.

“For what it's worth, I am sorry,” Sephiroth said after a long moment. “For everything. Especially for this. For taking you from your home.”

“You're not taking me,” Cloud muttered. “I'm just coming with you. It's more to keep you out of trouble than anything.”

“Of course,” Sephiroth said, his voice low as he shifted up, cruising smoothly in the old car. “Tell me when you want me to stop.”

Cloud fell silent again. He wasn't sure how much of it was because he didn't know what to say, and how much of it was how disappointed he was in himself for saying what he already had. He pushed the thoughts away and turned his gaze to the side mirror on his side, watching Midgar's now-broken wall fade behind them as they drove away from both the old city and Edge.


End file.
